In Which the Lich King Actually Tries to Conquer Azeroth
by TheRedMeanie
Summary: Is anyone ever a little dissatisfied with how Arthas goes from being the most competent warrior and general on all of Azeroth to someone who's grand master plan was "let me sacrifice almost all my soldiers and commanders so the enemy can besiege and enter my fortress then I'll really fight them." In this story the Lich King will have a better plan.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

"For many years has the corpse of Arthas Menethil sat encased upon the frozen throne. I say corpse because Arthas Menethil died the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt of that awe-inspiring blade Frostmourne. Unfortunate then that his would be the face of the Scourge, and should you speak to any commoner in any region of Azeroth they would curse Arthas for the crimes he committed. Yet few would curse the name Ner'zhul, that was passed in secretive whispers among members of the Scholomance in the years leading up to the Third War. All who got close enough to a member of the Cult of the Dammed to hear their battle cry would soon find themselves among the ranks of the Scourge, and those Forsaken souls are too bound by hatred and the sting of betrayal to consider that their once beloved prince wrought horrors under the same bondage that he bestowed upon them. None more so than the Banshee queen herself. A surprisingly foolish woman, it was not her wisdom that let he slip from the grasp of Ner'zhul it was only her blind incontinent rage against Arthas that let her break free. A pity Arthas had so grand a role to play in Ner'zhul's plans or he may have done the same. Yet that was not Arthas's fate, and as the days pass, I feel the presence of my master Ner'zhul wax and wane along with that of my lord Arthas. I do not know what goes on atop that precarious frozen spire only that is building to a culmination, and afterwards the world will surely feel the wrath of the Lich King, whosoever might hold that title."

Jaina sitting at her desk, in her chambers, in her city, had read this excerpt over and over again for months on end following its recovery from the quarters of the frost lich Kel'Thuzad. Her closest confidants thought she was mad for keeping it, but it instilled within her a sense of morbid hope. It seemed to confirm a belief she had always had sitting at the back of her mind. That Arthas, her Arthas, would never have done the things he had willingly, that when he had murdered Terenas in cold blood he had as much of a choice in the matter as one of the Scourges slobbering abominations. In her brief encounters with members of the Forsaken while visiting Orgrimmar she had learned that few who served the Lich King had done so willingly. Jaina turned her eyes away from the scrap of paper she had copied from the tome now stored in the library of Dalaran. Whether her secret beliefs are justified, or the Lich Kings wrath really will once again beset the realms of mortals there is much she needs to prepare. After all, as a member of the Alliance she still has to stay up to date on what's occurring in Outland.

XXX

The face of the Icecrown region has changed greatly since a rift was torn open and a strange icy meteor was thrown unto it's face. First the ground was rent asunder by a ritual conducted by the hated Betrayer Illidan, then the glacier was shattered beyond recognition when the Deathknight Arthas Menethil sat upon the Frozen Throne, and finally years after that event the Scourge stationed in Icecrown began to stir, they dug, labored, and built unconcerned with how long that had toiled. Over the course of just a few months a mighty citadel was erected over the last remnants of the Icecrown glacier. Compelled as they were the work of the scourge did not stop there, all throughout Azeroth cultists and ghouls worked at a fever pitch, for they could already feel the steady hand of a master upon their mind. The Lich King may have slept but as he dreamed his wishes were carried out by his faithful servants. Members of the Cult of the dammed slowly worked their way into positions of small power, and freshly buried bodies would often be dug up once more. Travel was more dangerous than ever because merchants and couriers would regularly go missing on the long roads between towns, their bodies never recovered. Naturally this concerned the authorities of both the Horde, and the Alliance, but much of their attention was consumed by the events going on beyond the Dark Portal. Sadly, no action was taken after all the Scourge had made no real coordinated movements since the battle of Naxrammus. So, it was in this way that the forces of death marshalled themselves in preparation for the coronation of The Lich King. Slowly the numbers of the dead became swollen.

Yes, for many years the corpse of Arthas Menethil sat unmoving upon the highest point, in the highest spire of the Icecrown Citadel. Until today when with the sound of cracking ice, that echoed like ball lightning, the corpse of Arthas Menethil stood up. The Lich King walked once more among living.

XXX

I awoke in confusion, before the flood of memories came. Two lifetimes of horror and suffering, memories of manipulation, betrayal, and corruption. It was too much to process and the more aware I became the worse off I was. It felt as though my mind was stretched out impossibly, I was seeing through a million eyes. Hunger the likes of which I had never experienced before filled me, naturally I recoiled mind and soul from this, the uncountable mindless ravenous horrors clawing at me. They begged for me to release them like a plague upon the world. Luckily in my shock, they were rooted in place as much as I.

The memories were so vivid. I could clearly remember, life on another world, a connection to the elements and the tragic end that would come. Yet that body is long gone burnt away in the foulest fel flames of the Legion. I was once a prince, of a kingdom now dead, adored and then abhorred. Yet that person is gone. Now I am a King, and as I descend the spiraling steps from the throne, I heard a whisper in my mind.

"My son. The day you were born, the very forests of Lordaeron whispered the name, Arthas. My child. I watched you with pride, as you grew into a weapon. Of righteousness. Remember, our line has always ruled with wisdom, and strength. And I know that you will show restraint, when exercising your great power. But the truest victory, my son, is stirring the hearts of your people. I tell you this, for when my days come to an end. You, shall be king." My human father was right, but all I rule is a broken kingdom. I know without asking, my birthright, the kingdom of Lordaeron is ruled by a pretender. Not even this far flung frozen continent is wholly under my control. It matters little, in due time all shall kneel.

AN: Hey, thanks for reading my little prologue. I'm mostly doing this to just work on writing so any comments or criticisms are appreciated. I want to add about 500 or so words to each chapter as the plot gets going until I reach about 3 times the length of this one. I figure 9-12 pages is a good length for a chapter, but I'm open to suggestions. As for the inspiration for this, it's just a what if kind of story, what if instead of becoming a Saturday morning cartoon villain we got a Lich King who was the best of both Arthas (someone who canonically was one of the most accomplished military commanders in Warcrafts setting) and Ner'zhul (I mean the dude was able to outplay Arthas, the Kirin Tor, and the Burning Legion to get his way). So hopefully you guys will enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

As I reached the bottom of the twisted peak upon which the Frozen Throne sat, I was greeted by the face of one of the few beings in existence that wasn't hostile. Kel'Thuzad, the first necromancer of the Cult of the Dammed and a close companion in my past life. Though to say he had a face wasn't entirely accurate, Kel'Thuzad had no face. All his skin had been flayed away by the powerful necromantic energies that animated his skeleton, and allowed him to float serenely off the black icy floors of the cavernous throne room.

"Kel'Thuzad, I was not aware you were here in Northrend," I said.

"So it is Arthas, and not Ner'zhul who will be leading the Scourge now." Kel'Thuzad said his cheekbones raised in what was the closest approximation of a smile a Lich could make, then bowed his head to his lord. "Apologies if I seem dismissive."

"What makes you so certain I am Arthas," I replied.

"You are forgetful my prince, I was created to be an agent of the Lich King not directly under his control. In order to act without the knowledge of the Burning Legion." Stated Kel'Thuzad, "If you could know where I was, so could the Burning Legion. Ner'zhul would have known these things."

"My mind is clouded Kel'Thuzad, I have the memories of Ner'zhul, Arthas as well drifting in and out of my head. I can reach out to the dead from here to the Eastern Kingdoms. Time is needed to adjust," I said. "For now, I need a survey of my holdings, and forces. I trust you can handle this task for me."

"I have been serving as your regent while you were incapacitated, no survey is needed. I can give you a report immediately," said Kel'Thuzad. I nodded, and gestured for him to follow me as I began to roam the citadel. As I wandered the many halls, and chambers a plan began to form in my head. The mortal kingdoms, and petty chiefdoms across Azeroth though my Scourge to be inert. No better than mindless animals to be slowly inevitably scoured from their lands. They are not aware that a single hand now steers the actions of every member of the forces of death. I will use that to my advantage, but first all of Northrend must be united. From the Tuskar and Nerubians in the east, to the Trolls in the west, not even the Dwarves in the mountain caves of the far north will stand against me. Caught in my thoughts, my surroundings are unmemorable and bland, until Kel'Thuzad and I pass through a massive black spiked gate that leads outside of Icecrown, and arrayed before me is what can only be described as a legion.

Guarding the entrance are long serving deathknights, Falric, Marwyn, Darion Mograine, and a number of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. Beyond them the valley is packed tight with the dead, in varying states of decay from skeletal to bloated and oozing, standing shoulder to shoulder. In the sky was a fleet of Necropolises, from which swarms of gargoyles and skeletal dragons took flight. I raise my foul blade Frostmourne, an object that fills me with as much fondness as disgust, and from it I radiate my power out to the assembled masses. My mindless and bestial servants all bellow and roar, those with more presence of mind kneel and prostrate themselves before me. For so long I was the pawn to higher powers, the elements of Draenor, The Burning Legion, Terenas Menethil, the Light, and even the last Lich King. It feels good to be the master of my own destiny, and none shall take that from me.

Kel'Thuzad then steps in front of me, imitating a kneeling position and asking, "what are your orders my king?"

XXX

For anyone who found themselves unwillingly burdened with the curse of undeath, it was often important to attempt to reclaim the habits they once had in life. Even if those habits were no longer needed. Sylvanas Windrunner had lived a long life, and she had picked up many habits. Some had been easy to resume after her rebirth as a banshee. She spent an hour and a half every day practicing her marksmanship. She spent the morning hours reviewing her scouts patrol reports for any indication of enemy movement. She was a leader and protector of her people, in the past as a Ranger-General, now as the Dark Lady of the Forsaken. She even managed to find it in her to occasionally consume food and drink water if only to recapture for the smallest indication of a sensation that is taken for granted by the living. Sleep however was a habit, that even after half a decade still eluded her, she had long ago forsaken any attempt at meditation. Any time she tried to quiet her mind to rest, she would find herself once more among the trees of Eversong forest, the sounds of death and struggle ringing in her ears. Her mind would play the events over again and again, asking where she went wrong. Could she have warned Silvermoon? Could she have slain Arthas then, and prevented so much suffering? Yes, inevitably her mind always returned to Arthas. How could it not, she led the people he betrayed, and lived in the city his family once ruled. She often repeated to herself, "Arthas is to blame for all of this, there is no looking back," but she knew this to be a lie.

She was always looking back, and it wasn't always a bad thing. It led her to bring the Sin'dorei into the fold of the Horde, to aid them in reclaiming the Ghostlands, and soon she would aid them in slaying their very own traitor king Kael'thas. A name which filled her with almost as much disgust as Arthas did. Arthas, again. Her thoughts were truly cyclical, always returning to her burning desire to enact a thousand vengances upon that wretche man. One for each day she suffered this cursed existence, one for each soul claimed by his sword, one for each of her failures, and one for every piece of grass that withered underneath the procession of dead marching feet that lead from the Undercity to Silvermoon.

Sylvanas's obsessive brooding was interrupted by the feeling of a rock dropping in her stomach, and a tugging at her mind. For a moment her limbs stiffened and she could feel her worst fear becoming a reality. The Lich King was trying to reassert it's will over her. She lashed out at it with all the hatred she had nurtured over the years and the feeling passed quickly. She then resumed her brooding with renewed zeal as the implications unfolded. Camped outside of Silvermoon city, it would be easy for her to relay the information to the other Horde leaders. However, forces of the Alliance were stationed here as well, information could spread out of hand, and Sylvanas did not intend to let anyone come between her and the purpose that had kept her sane for so long now. She made a gesture to one of the Banshees that guarded her tent, as far as she knew now, any of the Forsaken might have succumbed to the will of the Lich King, and she would need to begin screening the loyalty of her people before she could prepare any real move against the Scourge. She would find no time for sleep in the coming months, and for once Sylvanas would not feel disappointed about that fact.

XXX

All across Northrend, and the northernmost regions of the Eastern Kingdoms the Scourge began to pull back. The day before they seemed ever present, and prone to wandering around aimlessly in small circles or patrolling small paths to harass any adventurer or traveling merchant who came to close. Now the lands seemed unnaturally still. Except for the gathering places, where the slavering ghouls and grim necromancers set about making their masters wishes a reality.

In the dead of night, barricades and ramshackle walls began to be erected. In the plague lands, despite the season, a heavy snow began to fall conjured by the work of Frost Liches, obscuring vision day and night. Lights Hope Chapel and The Scarlet Monastery, as well as many outposts of the Argent Dawn and Scarlet Crusade were secretly being boxed in by walls. The snowstorms turned into blizzards, and only the most well-worn roads were left passable. Far from the roads the ramshackle walls became reinforced, and then manned with tireless unmoving sentinels.

In Northrend the preparations were far less discrete, war raged across the continent as every pocket of resistance was quashed and the citizens made to swear allegiance to the Lich King. Those not killed in the attacks were spared, but a tax of lives was instituted. They could be provided willingly or taken by force, as the small Vrykul, or Tuskarr villages had no hope of resistance. The more powerful holdouts such as Wyrmrest Accord and Zul'Drak were besieged.

Wyrmrest Accord itself was surrounded with magic nullifying runes to prevent portals, and the surrounding lands were filled with scorpions, reanimated dragons, and other anti-air measures prepared to ambush any dragon attempting to escape. While Zul'Drak was placed under near constant artillery fire in an effort to wear down the Drakkari empires ability, and will to resist a ground invasion.

So it was that the first phase of the Lich Kings plan to rule all of Azeroth was put into action.

AN: So here's chapter two, hope you all enjoy it, as always I appreciate your comments and critiques. Like I said last chapter it is about 500 words longer than chapter 1, and the next chapter should be a little bit longer still. Eventually I'll reach a chapter length that feels satisfying to read when I edit, but I'd rather build up to it instead of trying to write like that to start with.

As for the questions I got about last chapter. Yes I do know what the plan was in WOTLK canon, it's just the whole point of the fic is that when you think about it the canon plan didn't really make any sense (When I put on a tinfoil hat I think Arthas was really a good guy and the only reason we are able to beat him is because he tried really hard to line it up so we could, hence the whole "There must always be a Lich King" thing because someone has to hold back the scourge from wiping out all life). Also I agree, a story about the main character being totally perfect and not facing any trouble isn't really interesting, so the Lich King isn't going to be the only one who gets an upgrade in competence. All the leaders are going to hopefully be able to be a little more competent.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So here is chapter 3, it took a lot longer than expected, but to be fair I didn't expect to move across the country. Now with law school starting I doubt I'll be able to find the time to have a weekly update schedule, but I think a larger update every two weeks might be possible. Though school is my first priority, and after that I would like to add a second chapter to the first story I put up on . Either way feel free to let me know what you all think, hopefully POV is a little less confusing, or at least a little less jarring. Finally I would like to thank those of you who recently reviewed, because you helped me regain the motivation to finish writing this chapter.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 3**

**Tirion**

* * *

Fordring was a man of habit. His long military career had ensured that, before he spent years living as a farmer during his exile. He woke up with the sun, and every dawn he liked to walk through the secured sections of the plague lands. He would do his part consecrating the land, reclaiming it from the unholy corruption of the scourge. It was because of this that he found himself so irritable this morning. The heavy snows outside of the lights hope chapel ensured that all members of the Argent Dawn were confined inside for most of the day. Only covered stagecoach carts would travel every few days to the nearest town for supplies. Luckily for Tirion, today was one of those days, and no one objected when he volunteered to drive the stagecoach. Most could see he was getting an early onset of cabin fever. Tirion bundled up with furs over his armor, despite the weather he knew better than to leave the safety of hallowed ground without protection. To do so would be an open invitation to be a ghoul's dinner.

As Tirion felt the warmth of the Lights hallowed ground fade, he saw what seemed to be a wall of snow extending across the horizon, with only a small opening where the road passes through it. There was clearly something off about this, and in response Tirion drew his maul and prepared himself for combat. As his horse pulled up to the snow wall, a pair of halberds cross before it blocking his path, and two large half decayed soldiers shake off the snow that had settled across them. The guard on the left was a young corpse. Barely a man when, by the look of his wounds, he was eaten alive by ghouls. On his right was the remnants of an older man, what skin still clung to his body was scarred, and Tirion couldn't see the wound that slew him. It's possible he was turned by the plague. They made no other aggressive move, as one would expect from the mindless servants of the scourge. Members of the Forsaken? It didn't make sense to Tirion why servants of the Dark Lady would be here in the plague lands while there was a war effort in Quel'Thalas, but he was always the kind to try the diplomatic approach first.

"Hail strangers, what seems to be the problem?" Tirion called out.

"Identification," came the rasped reply of the gaunt guard to Tirions left.

"I wasn't aware that there was a checkpoint here, I don't have any papers, perhaps there is a toll I can pay?" Tirion said.

"What is your name, and purpose of travel?" said the young corpse.

"Hold on, I think I recognize this man," said the old guard. "Is that you Commander Fordring?"

"Aye, though no one's called me commander in a long time. It seems you have me at a disadvantage, if we met in the past I don't recall it," replied Tirion.

"Not surprising, I served under you in the Second War. You saved my life during the Battle of Blackrock Mountain-"

**XXX**

Tirion could not endure this siege much longer. If not for the men underneath him, and the undeniable threat posed by the monstrous horde, he would have deserted long ago. Sadly Tirion knew better than to believe his own lies, in this war even the craven fought. It was not a war for honor or King. It was a war for survival, everyone had witnessed the extermination brought by the brutish war machine. Yet that did little to comfort him now, now all he had was his determination to be strong for the men who had to die under his orders.

There was no peace here, not even for a moment. Constantly Tirion was barraged by the thunderclap sounds of siege spells being cast, and the rumbling of the earth when they reached their target on Blackrock Mountain. Mages in squads ranging in number from four to sometimes as many as ten would gather to cast cataclysmic streams of flame. The bombardment had been ongoing for half a month now. The once finely crafted outcroppings and towers of the former Dark Iron capital melted away more and more each day such that most now resembled the natural features of the mountain.

Still each night Tirion got little in the way of rest, for as the sun began to set the orc raids began. Not every night, that would allow the forces of the alliance to be ready. The attacks came seemingly at random but always from the sky. On the backs of red dragons, two or three orcs apiece, always with firebombs to drop. Their targets were buildings, siege weapons, and more often than not the tents of sleeping soldiers.

In the shadow of the Blackrock, on blasted and corrupted soil, the cold hand of death rested on every man's shoulder. At least that was what Tirion would say when asked why his hands shook while leading the daily devotionals of the light. It was why every night he prayed tomorrow would be the last spent among the charred corpses of sleeping men, and the unceasing beats of thunder.

**XXX**

-really killed a dragon by throwing a hammer at it? I don't even think that's possible," replied the young corpse.

"Easy to say when you met your end crying at a ravenous pack of toddlers, huh boy," came the retort of the veteran's corpse.

"It's hard to judge a man by his death, while ignoring his life. I'm sure this one has seen his fair share of fights, we all have." Interjected Tirion as he blinked the past from his eyes. "Regardless soldier, if you're at liberty to discuss it, I would like to know. So, I might be allowed past this checkpoint. Why are you two stationed here?" The old corpse turns again and meets Tirion's eyes, they are rotting with some patches the color of yellow bile and others milk white.

"As chance would have, commander, I find myself manning a siege once more." His black frostbitten fingers point back into the blizzard, "down the way you've come is a bishopric that has declared independence from the Kingdom of Lordaeron. We are to let no living thing in, and only loyal oath sworn citizens of the Kingdom out." Have the Dark Lady's delusions of grandeur reached impossible new heights, or perhaps is that old soldiers mind not as intact as his whole skull would imply thought Tirion?

"Last I had heard the Kingdom of Lordaeron was no more, its king murdered, its cities sacked, and its people scattered to the winds. What has changed?" said Tirion.

"Aye you heard right, all this and more was done by the hand of Ner'zhul the Lich King, but Ner'zhul is the Lich King no more. Prince Arthas has taken the Frozen Throne, and never again shall the scourge threaten the Kingdom. They are one and the same now." The soldier's corpse beamed with pride as he said this, he did not recognize the horror and surprise on the face of Fordring. This information changed his priorities completely, say what you would of Arthas, and Tirion had plenty to say on this matter, but the threat he posed to the fragile world of Azeroth could not be underestimated. It was with his talent for military command that the kingdoms of Lordaeron and Quel'thas were decimated. As far as anyone was concerned there was no record of an army under the command of Arthas being defeated.

"Aye the Prince is even scheduled to survey the fortifications today," said the young man's corpse.

"Well, either way. You must let me through this checkpoint as I said before," replied Tirion. The Young corpse angled his weapon back towards Tirion upon hearing him.

"Only loyal citizens of the Kingdom may pass this checkpoint," said the young corpse.

"You would doubt my loyalty, after all my service and sacrifice for the good of the kingdom," said Tirion, glaring down at the boy from upon his mount.

"He will do no such thing Commander Fordring. This one is green," interjects the old veteran. A twisted approximation of a dirty look is shot at the young corpse who doesn't have the decency to look chided, "he doesn't understand what you've done for the good of the Kingdom. Go on through." The two guards step back and wave him through the small gap in the wall of snow. As he passes through the wall Tirion takes note of it's construction. The side of it facing towards the chapel was stone masonry, reinforced from behind by earthen hills built as ramps leading to the ramparts. It seemed that the further from the gap in the wall the more completed the construction was, though still covered in snow.

Once he was beyond eyesight of the construction, he stopped, and unburdened his mount from hauling the cart. He needed to travel as far as possible as quickly as he could, and so he rode hard for alliance territory.

He heard the clacking of jaws before he saw them.

**The Lich King**

* * *

To say that I was pleased with the progress towards the final unification of Northrend would be an understatement. Targets that could not be taken easy, were besieged. What could be feasibly assaulted was, I was not overly concerned with casualties after all, any of my pawns that died could be reanimated, and any casualties the defenders took would join my forces in the aftermath of the subjugation.

The situation in Zul'drak requires my direct attention, and it feels good to take to the field once more. In ways I had not imagined. The stretching, and tightness of my muscles as I fight sear pleasantly through my being. The fleeting warmth of the lifeblood of combatants as Frostmourne strikes them down is euphoric. It reminds me of sunlight on my skin, and there among the warriors of the troll tribe I chase that feeling like an addict. Yet, I was the ultimate arbiter of my actions, not even the ravenous hunger of my rune blade could compel me to act. I chose to provide them the gift of death, and that was profound in a way each of them would soon understand. My indomitable being will subsume their own. In the back of my mind I questioned the ethics of the slavery of the soul I brought these brutes, yet it was not so different than the fealty sworn to a king or chief in life, but by now I would think I am beyond good and evil. How can I apply the ethics taught to a man, when I am now a god?

These are little thoughts. My war machine grows with each day, my wrath much like an avalanche is reaching a critical mass. Soon to be unleashed upon the unwary peasants living in the shadow of my mountain.

Once Wyrmrest Accord is claimed, I will raise a dragon flight all my own. Frost wyrms and necropolis will darken the skies of the Eastern Kingdoms.

Once I sit upon my rightful throne I will usher in the beginning of an Eternal Kingdom.

I drive my blade through the chest of an empowered champion of one of the troll's savage gods, and with that their ranks break, and the battle ends as quickly as it began. Another decisive victory, matched by the defeat I feel across a far ocean. A scowl brushes across my face as the farthest tendrils of my consciousness recoil. With a thought I am looking through the eyes of a death knight standing guard at the door of the Scholomance's study.

My voice suffuses and supplants that the original inhabitant of this corpse when I say, "Kel'Thuzad."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, my king" came the reply from behind a bookcase filled with books bound in various leathers.

"My attempts to return the Forsaken to the fold have been just that, attempts. What could possibly have granted them the ability to resist my commands now that I am restored?" I ask.


End file.
